Police Academy 9: Bye Bye Birdie
by Amymimi
Summary: What will Lieutenant Thaddeus Harris do when the possibility of being the new commandant is incompatible with being in a relationship?
1. Birdie

**Police Academy 9: Bye Bye Birdie**

**What will Lieutenant Thaddeus Harris do when the possibility of being the new commandant is incompatible with having a relationship?**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harris or other recognizable Police Academy characters!**

* * *

**This story is a sequel to Police Academy 8: Police and Prejudice, beginning later in the same day in which that story ended. You should read that story first before delving into this one or you will be hopelessly lost. The story, as you may recall, is told from April Carnegie's point of view.**

* * *

At precisely twenty-two hundred and five hours, I stood nervously by Commandant Lassard's office in my dress uniform, with all its buttons and shiny new police hat. I'd brought my sweatsuit in a duffle bag after I'd changed into the uniform in a bathroom right down the hall from the office.

Lieutenant Thaddeus Harris was now officially my boyfriend and had propositioned me to fulfill what was probably a long-awaited fantasy of his. Basically, he wanted to screw around in the commandant's office. As long as we didn't get caught, I was game. Once Harris got started, he was rather good between the sheets. I wandered how he'd be behind a desk….

It was then, in the midst of my self-stimulating thoughts that I heard fast-paced clicking in the hall. Whoever was steadily approaching wasn't yet visible, not yet having rounded the corner to my hallway. I froze in place, unable to tell if the clicks were made by male or female shoes. The clicks were far too fast paced to be those of Lassard, but what if it was Callahan or Tackleberry? What would I say? How would I explain why I was here, in my dress uniform, no less? The state of my rather turned-on lower half made me feel even more scandalous. Was Harris seriously running late?

I didn't have to worry. The footsteps rounded the corner, revealing Lieutenant Harris. I let out an audible sigh of relief. He was dressed in his usual uniform and even had his annoying little baton with him. As he approached, he gave me a little nod and then took out a ball of keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and pushing it open. I entered the room, which was illuminated only from the outside lights. He locked the door and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Lassard's office was located directly above Harris's office and had the same general layout. Unlike Harris, however, he had lots of bookshelves packed with books, as well as a goldfish bowl on his desk. His entire décor was devoted to fish, with wooden fish sculptures behind his desk and even a fish mounted above his doorway.

"Are you going to turn on the light?" I asked.

"Not before I arrange the curtains," he replied, moving past me quickly in the room. Swiftly he yanked the maroon curtains hanging on either side of the large windows towards the center, effectively blocking out the view. Now it was pitch-black, but Harris still moved around expertly enough to find the light switch. I squinted in the bright light.

"Guilty," he announced, grinning at me and putting his baton down on a chair. "Which means I can breathe easy for a little while longer. And do this."

At that, he approached me, one eyebrow cocked as he strode right up to me and grabbed my ass with his free arm, pulling my body against his. He leaned in and kissed me so fiercely that my hat fell off and clattered onto the floor. My eyes went wide at the noise in the quiet office, praying that no one would suspect something was going on, and investigate. The back of my legs made sharp contact with the front of Lassard's desk and made the piece of furniture squeak across the floor, the water in the fishbowl sloshing around like crazy.

"Damn, that was close," Harris muttered, pulling away. "You almost killed Lassard's pet," he added, his voice now more like a growl as he pointed sharply at the fishbowl. "You damn near killed Birdie."

"I know," I replied, breaking out in a toothy grin.

"Now, I can't abide that," he said, putting his fist on his hip. His tone was serious, but his eyes were playful, and a grin played on his lips. "You gotta bend over the desk and fix what you done to that poor fish."

"Is that right?" I quirked an eyebrow at him, then I looked at the desk. A post-it note said 'Feed Birdie'. "Guess Birdie wasn't fed today, either," I added.

Harris's eyes shot from the desk to my face. "Is that right?"

My heart thudded in my ears and I could feel my body heating up. I grinned at him, playfulness flooding my senses.

"Seems to be," I commented.

"You tryin' to change the subject?" he growled, his eyes hungrily scanning my body from top to bottom. He took a step toward me, heat emanating from him. His eyes narrowed with desire. "That's got nothin' to do with you bending over, now, does it?"

Damn. My entire bottom half was now throbbing and I could hear every breath I took. Now was my time to give him the same feeling.

"No it doesn't, _Commandant_ Harris," I said.

I heard him make a kind of high pitched whimper. Was he going to chicken out? I must have made a concerned face, because he felt the need to make up for that involuntary little noise, and make up for it he _did_. Birdie would certainly agree to it, because only seconds after Harris began our physical encounter, the fishbowl clattered to the ground and shattered into big nasty shards of glass.

"Shouldn't we do something about—" I began, my eyes locked on the fish. My remarks were stifled mid-sentence by Harris's mouth moving over mine.

* * *

"I think we oughta get the fish—" I began, but was cut off again by Harris, who moved us away from the flopping fish shaking his head all the while.

"The fish is just gonna have to wait," he said irritably. "Besides, I heard those things can live for seven hours without water."

Only after we had finished did Thaddeus Harris care about the goldfish flopping on the ground. I don't know how it was able to survive ten minutes out of water.

"Damn fish," Harris grunted as he attempted to scoop up the slimy goldfish on the ground. He'd since pulled up his pants but had somehow misplaced his belt.

"What are you going to put him in?" I asked. "Surely Commandant Lassard will see that he isn't in his—"

"Ah ah ah," Harris said in a singsong, shaking his finger at me with eyebrows raised. "We got nothing to worry about." I was still doubtful and showed it on my face.

"Gotta hand it to him; for being such a dimwitted old fool, Lassard's got his bases covered with that damn fish," he muttered to himself as he shook his head. He looked up at me. "Just you wait."

With that, Harris strode over to the back of Lassard's desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a fresh new glass fishbowl. He held it up triumphantly, forgetting about his pants for a second. Immediately they fell down, exposing his boxers to me. I chuckled at the silly view, even though I'd seen his boxers only minutes earlier in a rather different situation.

Harris's face turned a shade of pink and he yanked up his pants indignantly, holding them high above his waistline. I found his belt slung over one of Lassard's wall shelves and tossed it over to him. Again his pants fell as he caught the belt with his only usable hand. I wanted to laugh at his appearance, but the fish was making me nervous.

"You better get that fish back in there or we won't have to worry about it anymore," I cautioned, glancing down at Birdie to see that it had stopped flopping around. Harris reached down and picked up the shards of glass from the previous fishbowl that were scattered across the floor.

"Throw those away in the can," he said, dumping handfuls of it into the new fishbowl. "Lassard would find it right away in here." He handed me the fishbowl full of glass.

"Wait—you want me to go to the bathroom?" I replied indignantly. No way was I going to walk out in the hallway with this.

"Yeah—dump the glass out and fill it with water," he said. "You're dressed and I'm not."

"What if someone sees me in the hallway?" I countered. "How am I supposed to explain the fishbowl?"

"Only Lassard and the instructors know there's a fish in here. If it's a cadet, just ignore 'em. Now, get going before it up and dies!" He shooed me off with his hand, his voice now impatient and prodding. "Move it, move it, move it!"

* * *

I raced down the hallway as silently as possible, taking off my hat and placing the fishbowl in it. If Commandant Lassard were to find me wandering the hallways with an empty fishbowl, he'd probably die of a heart attack.

Thankfully, I was able to reach the women's restroom, dump the glass out, and fill up the fishbowl with water without anyone seeing me. It wasn't long before I was back in the office, to find Harris drained of all color.

"What's wrong?" I asked, instantly terrified. My worst fears were confirmed.

"The damn…. fish," Harris muttered, holding the limp creature in his hand and spitting on it to no avail. "It just up and died."

"What did you do?" I asked. "I thought you said they could live seven hours out of water."

"I didn't do nothing!" he insisted. "Stupid fish flopped out of my hand onto the floor a couple of times, but that's 'cause it's too damn slippery and because I only have the one hand."

"You let it fall a _couple_ of times?" I gasped. "It probably broke its back!"

"No way," he replied dismissively. "You see cats doing that all the time. Bugs, worms. Fish are no different."

I gulped, the seriousness of what we'd just done truly sinking in. We'd killed the commandant's fish, in addition to defiling his office. That poor, sweet old man without a mean bone in his body. I wasn't sure what to say, but I _was_ annoyed at Harris for cutting me off right after the bowl broke.

I crossed my arms and asked him a question.

"So you're saying that a human falling from a twenty story building wouldn't be—"

"I don't wanna hear it, Carnegie," he interrupted while shaking his head. "We gotta get a replacement fish—that's right. Lassard will never know."

It was then that we heard the engine of a golf cart pulling around the cul-de-sac in front of the building. Harris scurried to the window, fish in hand, and used his bad shoulder to nudge the fabric back.

Harris looked out the window and then back at me, his expression irritated and yet somehow also conveying how scared shitless he was. The next words the left his lips were unnaturally high-pitched.

"Lassard."


	2. Lassard

**CHAPTER 2**

After he'd realized Lassard was coming, Thaddeus Harris moved faster than I could have ever imagined.

"Gimme that bowl," Harris growled, using his head to indicate the desk. I placed the bowl on the desk and he dumped the fish out of his hand. Birdie fell into the bowl, immediately turning onto its back and staying at the top of the water. He placed it close to the note about feeding the fish, precisely where it had been before it had toppled over.

"Go turn off the light," he indicated, pointing at the switch. I did so, causing the room to go pitch black as he deftly pulled the curtains back into place and used their ties to put them back into place. Now the office was barely lit up by the moonlight and the orangey glow of the academy's scattered outdoor lights. I pulled my hat back onto my head as I heard Harris bump into Lassard's desk as he moved from behind it.

"Now, let's get out of here!" he grunted. "No time to lose!" I was still adjusting my eyes to the light when I felt his slimy hand wrap around mine and pull me out of the room. By the time I remembered the fishy reason for his hand's sliminess, we were out in the hallway and the door was locked behind us.

* * *

"Why, hello, Commandant Lassard," Harris warmly greeted, tipping his hat to the older gentleman, who looked tired but concerned about something as he made his way up the stairs. We'd made it out of Lassard's office without detection and were now walking side by side as we met up with Lassard on the landing for Harris's floor. "How are you this evening?" Harris asked Lassard, his voice oozing with sweetness.

Lassard looked at Harris and then me with confusion.

"Is this a cadet?" Lassard asked, peering at me while blinking rather fast. "I don't recall our hiring a new instructor."

"No, she's definitely a cadet," Harris said, irritation lacing his voice. "Don't you remember, Sir?"

I didn't like the patronizing tone of Harris's voice. We'd just killed Lassard's pet and screwed around in his office and _Harris_ was annoyed? I felt the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's not that," Lassard began, stammering a bit. "It's just, she's not dressed like a cadet. And it's quite late to be dressed so… formally."

"It's a dressage drill," Harris immediately replied. "Standard procedure. Just going around to various dorm rooms and giving students a short time to get ready—gotta be ready for anything; you know how it is."

"Ah," Lassard said with a smile of understanding, as gullible as an 8-year-old. "Well, then, I shan't hold you back. Carry on, Captain Harris." With that, he prepared to continue walking, but then Harris said something surprising.

"It's Lieutenant now," Harris muttered, reaching his arm up to rub the back of his sweaty neck. "Lieutenant Harris."

"What?" Lassard said in an airheaded way, turning to look at Harris. "But you rescued that cadet, and shot that robber and—"

"Yes," Harris replied, "but well, the world works in mysterious ways." He shrugged, attempting to appear casual about it.

"It most certainly does," Lassard admitted. "In fact, I am back here this evening due to some very strange circumstances that have resulted in my forgetting to feed Birdie."

"That _is_ strange, Sir," Harris replied, eating up Lassard's every word. "Have you ever forgotten before?"

"Not something of this importance," Lassard admitted. He looked quite ashamed of himself and shook his head. Now his eyes looked defeated.

"Right. I'll let you take care of that then," Harris said, flashing Lassard a little smile. "Good night, Sir."

With that, Harris strode past Lassard, who was not yet done talking. I didn't know what to do either way, so I followed Harris's lead, staying a couple of steps behind him. Huh. Apparently Lassard didn't recognize me, referring to the cadet in the incident as a _that_.

I turned my head one time to notice Lassard looking back at us quizzically before continuing on up the stairs.

* * *

Harris and I strode across campus, finally able to take our time and get back to the dorms. I for one couldn't wait to change out of the formal uniform.

I couldn't wait to change, to get back into the clothes I'd brought with me—oh my God, where was my duffel bag?!

I stopped in place just after we'd crossed under the streetlight I'd had to do jumping jacks under less than two weeks ago, my face pale and stomach feeling like a bottomless pit.

"What's with the holdup?" Harris snapped irritably, keeping up his pace. I stayed frozen to my spot, realizing where my bag was—I'd left it _there_.

"My duffel bag," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt nauseous. Now Harris halted, squaring off his shoulders before turning around to face me.

"What about your duffel bag?"

"It's in his office."

* * *

"The hell is wrong with you?" Harris murmured angrily, throwing his good hand up in the air. He pointed at me, nostrils flaring, clearly enraged. "All you had to do was remember to bring your damn bag with—"

I stared at his empty hand, realizing something just as troubling.

"Where's your baton?" I asked him.

I'd never seen anger turn to outright shock so fast. Harris's face turned as white as mine had certainly been earlier, his eyes wide with the ugly realization. How would he explain _that_ away?

"You were supposed to get that, Carnegie!" he suddenly raged. "I put the damn bowl back, fixed the curtains, locked the door—can't you handle anything?!"

"Don't you dare blame me for this!" I yelled, throwing up my arms in disgust. "If you'd told me to grab that stuff_ before_ telling me turn off the light, I could've seen—"

"Shh!" he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "You tryin' to wake the whole damn campus?!"

"Fine, but I'm not taking the blame for forgetting your baton," I replied, crossing my arms, my voice now at normal volume.

"I got one good arm!" Harris snarled, stomping toward me angrily as he pointed at the sling, his voice as loud as a whisper could be. "How the hell was I gonna do all that _and_ carry all our shit?!"

"All that matters is how we are gonna get it all back," I began, trying to be reasonable. I supposed that expecting a relatively incompetent cop like Harris to grab our stuff in one hand was too much. "Now, the good thing is that my name isn't in or on my bag. There's no way anyone will know it's mine."

"What about my baton?" Harris asked. "I'm the only one who carries a baton."

"Have you not been in his office lately?" I asked. "Can't you just pass it off as that?"

"I haven't," Harris said, considering, "but that old coot's been losing his mind for the last fifteen years. I think I could convince Lassard that I'd met him there lately. Good thinking, Carnegie."

With that, he patted me on the shoulder. I gave Harris a grim smile but my plight was not yet fixed.

"What about my clothes?" I said. "I only have two pairs of sweats, and one of them is in a bag in Lassard's office."

"I'll figure out some way to get them back," he muttered. "Use your other pair in the meantime."

"But they're dirty," I said. "It's going to be obvious that something's not right."

"You let me worry about that," Harris said. "As your squadmaster, I'll probably have to call you out on it. Just be prepared to get chewed out."

"I thought we were over this game playing," I said. "Mullers and Stiner basically know that we like each—"

"Are you shittin' me?!" Harris squawked, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You can't be talkin' about this. Cadets and instructors sleeping together is _not_ acceptable behavior."

I glared at him, my arms still crossed.

"Oh, but having sex across Lassard's desk and then killing his fish is?"

Harris sighed heavily, defeated by my counterargument.

"It's been a long night," Harris groaned. "I'm tired of arguing." He gestured dismissively. "You wanna ruin my reputation; you go ahead."

I rolled my eyes but quickly changed my stance as two female cadets left the woman's dorm and headed right towards us on the sidewalk. We couldn't talk about this any longer.

"Good night, Lieutenant Harris," I muttered, as his mouth fell open with suspicion, still unaware of the approaching cadets walking up behind him. As soon as he heard the clicking of shoes behind him, though, his expression went back to normal.

"Alright, Carnegie," he replied, continuing past me. "Now, get back to your dorm on the double or you'll have twice as much work next time."

"Right," I said irritably, rolling my eyes at his insistence on talking down to me. The two female cadets walked by us, talking excitedly with definite mentions of Harris. Ugh. Whatever.


	3. A Major Announcement

**Thanks to romana45 and Katrina Connors for your feedback on the story! **

* * *

"All instructors report to Commandant Lassard's office," the PA boomed early the next morning, only half an hour before squadron activities were due to begin. I almost swallowed my tongue. The shit had definitely hit the fan—or should I say, the _fish_.

"I wonder what that means about morning drills," Gertrude muttered, her voice thick with sleep. She didn't even bother to turn on the lights, which was a good thing.

"Probably means we can sleep in for now, at least until they make an announcement that they are back," I said. I laid my head back down on the pillow but knew it'd be impossible to sleep. What would Lassard say? What would Harris say? What was going to happen?

* * *

The meeting must have been brief, because it wasn't even fifteen minutes before another PA announcement indicated for cadets to be ready and in position at the normal time. However, the meeting must have been controversial, based on Callahan and Harris's faces when we'd made our way to the obstacle course in the morning.

Lieutenant Harris was positively beaming, the most upbeat I'd ever seen the man. It seemed as if his face was stuck in a permanent smile. Captain Callahan, on the other hand, looked troubled and upset. It was like Harris had forgotten that he was supposed to be a hard-ass; twirling his baton and grinning off into space was not like him. What the hell had gone on in that meeting?

I tried to make eye contact with Harris throughout the morning exercises, but he seemed to be purposely avoiding looking my way. My annoyance at his wacked-out behavior made me roll my eyes after every rebuffed glance towards him. I even noticed several cadets slacking off during the course run, and yet, Harris said nothing, his mood apparently preventing from getting angry. I, on the other hand, was getting increasingly irritated. Just last night we killed Lassard's fish—it was as dead as a doornail. Had it somehow survived? Is that why Harris was smiling so damn much? And if that was so, why was Callahan frowning?

* * *

I sat with Mullers, Stiner, and Manson during lunch but kept my peripheral vision fully on Lieutenant Harris. As soon as he decided to leave this large open room, I was going to follow him find out what the hell was going on.

"You mentioned yesterday that you and Harris liked each other, Carnegie. You seem kinda pissy around him today. What gives?" Mullers asked me.

"Such is love," Stiner grumbled, jamming her fork into what was supposed to be a potato. "It's hard enough as it is. Now, with Harris, it's gotta be really hard."

"I'm just weirded out by his mood is all," I said. "It makes no sense."

"Why's that? Maybe it's his lovey-dovey mood," Mullers replied. Her face took on a mischievous look. "You guys consummate it yet? That could be the reason." With that, she winked at me.

I felt my face heating up but I pushed all the total shock from the rather accurate accusation down into my stomach. I hadn't considered that, but I figured the death of that damn fish would have cancelled out his joy over our tryst in the commandant's office.

"What? Just 'cause I said we 'like' each other doesn't mean that," I replied as quickly as possible, avoiding any silence after her words that could be taken as truth. "God—I can't believe you just said that."

"Has he used his handcuffs on you yet?" Stiner said, winking at me.

Manson spoke up. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he was into… BDSM and all that kinky stuff—he just seems like he'd be a sadist."

Of course, Manson and her dark mind had come up with that rather strange idea. I supposed it was possible—the man did order me to bend over the desk to clean up Birdie's water. Even so, I was pretty sure that his little ranch house with its narrow hallway, Corvette-containing garage and nondescript bedroom had no room for a sex dungeon.

I'd never wanted Harris to leave the cafeteria so badly, just so that I could make an excuse to leave the table with my curious group of friends attempting to guess how Harris was in the sack.

"You know, Carnegie," Mullers said, "if you got him mad enough, I could see him trying that on you. Of course, that would only be good if you were into that sort of thing."

"Are you?" Manson asked, her eyes large.

My eyes darted around uncomfortably to see Brookstone down the way staying rather quiet about the whole thing, but keeping her eyes locked on the back of Harris's head as he sat alone at the instructors' table.

"You guys are crazy," I said. "I honestly never even thought about that before. I don't have an opinion on it either way."

* * *

Finally, Harris stood up and gathered his tray. I sat for another twenty seconds or so, and then excused myself to go to the restroom.

"Uh huh," Mullers said, having noticed Harris leaving as well. "I know the real reason. Go get 'em, Tiger!" she commented with a big smile.

"If he _is_ actually into that sort of thing," Manson said quietly to me, "would you tell us what happens?"

I couldn't help but let out a guffaw.

"Uh, why?" I asked her. The other girls were now looking quizzically at her.

"Oh, just curiosity," she murmured, blushing. "Believe me, I'm not interested in him that way."

"Yeah, you don't have any competitors here for _that_, no matter how kinky he is," Mullers chuckled, holding up her arms as if surrendering. "I think it'd just make drills that much funnier, knowing that he gets off on yelling at us."

Stiner and Manson nodded in agreement, but Brookstone was still staring at him. Damn. Would I have jailbait like her as competition?

* * *

"Lieutenant Harris," I said, jogging up behind him as he strode down a hallway, baton in hand. There was a delay of response from him, but eventually, he turned his head and slowed his pace.

"Oh, _Carnegie_," he said, sounding surprised to see me. "We don't start gym exercises until 9."

"What went on in that meeting?" I asked, keeping my voice hushed. "I know you all talked to Commandant Lassard."

"Can't talk about that right now," he said. "It's privileged information. Lassard will be making a big announcement and I don't wanna spoil the surprise."

"Did the fish live?" I asked, my voice now a whisper.

"Nope!" he said with a smirk. "Just wait 'til lunch. You'll see." He began walking faster as if to put more distance between us.

"What?" I squawked, grabbing the back of his shirt. "I can't wait that long. What happened?"

Suddenly Harris yanked himself away from me, turning back to look at me with disapproval and then down the hallway behind us to see that it was empty.

"Listen, Carnegie, you gotta cool it for now," he chided. The only thing that was missing was a wag of his finger. "Don't go makin' it so obvious that you're head over heels."

"Me?" I retorted. "What about you, walking around here like you're on cloud nine? Looks like you're head over heels—except that you haven't even looked at me all morning."

"My mood today has a lot less to do with you than you think," he said. "It's way bigger than that."

"Gee, thanks," I snapped sarcastically. "And to think, I figured you actually _enjoyed_ our—"

"Keep it down, Carnegie," he shot, his eyes flashing dangerously at me. "Just wait 'til lunch and you'll understand."

* * *

At lunch, I was bursting to know what the hell was going on. Not only was Harris some kind of happy robot all morning, but Callahan couldn't have looked more uncomfortable, and that sentiment was generally how all the other instructors behaved while getting their food in the cafeteria and heading to their table.

I sat down first and was joined by Mullers, Stiner, Manson, and Brookstone, who seemed to feel the electricity that was in the air. Maybe I was making it a bit too obvious that I was anxious about something. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for long.

Commandant Lassard strode into the cafeteria with his shoulders slightly more rounded than usual, his eyes tired and red around the rims. He carried a little cigar box in both his hands as if it contained the hope diamond. It definitely looked as if he'd been crying. _This_ was what Harris was happy about? Man, maybe he _was_ a sadist.

I saw Harris turn in his seat to watch, his back straightening as Lassard walked past him. The students seemed to be able to tell something was wrong, and they fell silent without being told to do so. The silence and suspense were deafening.

The students' eyes all locked on Lassard as he made his way to the center of the room, with Sergeant Jones handing him a microphone.

"I have a very, very important announcement to make," Lassard said, his voice thin and wavering. "As you are all certainly aware, I have been commandant of this academy for many, many years. During those years, I have remained capable of taking care of all the things important to me: my loved ones and my job."

I felt a wave of pity for this sweet old man. Then I realized what must have been in the cigar box, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Yesterday, however, I neglected to care for one of my dearest companions, Birdie, and as a result, he has died." His voice caught in his throat and I noticed how glassy his eyes looked. "I can no longer in good conscience remain the commandant of the academy after realizing these very, very grave issues concerning my memory." He took a deep breath, preparing to say what seemed to be the most difficult thing he'd ever have to say. "Therefore, I am hereby retiring from my position as commandant of the Metropolitan Police Academy."

I could see his lips quavering as he remained standing, one hand holding the microphone and the other holding the cigar box perfectly parallel with the ground.

"I will be taking care of the loose ends at the academy until my successor is chosen, which will probably be in about a week or so," he finished. "I have been very, very happy here and know that you will all be most excellent police officers." With that, he gave us all a little bow. "Thank you very, very much."

The room was left in silence. Surely almost all of the cadets, if not all of them, did not know who Birdie was—for all they knew, he could have been a person, by the way the commandant spoke of him. Several instructors begin to clap for Lassard, and I could hear their voices as they told him that he'd be missed. Eventually the entire cafeteria was applauding for the commandant and even did a standing ovation for him. Lassard could only stand there, the saddest smile in the world on his face. He bowed again, this time very slowly.

Before the applause had fully died down, Lassard handed the microphone back to Jones and trudged slowly out of the room, flanked by an ass-kissing Harris, who supported one elbow, and Captain Callahan, who stood at his other side.

I felt sick to my stomach and almost threw up. The commandant was retiring because of what Harris and I had done—_he'd_ taken the blame!


End file.
